Flight Feathers
by Blynx
Summary: A young owl finds himself swept into the turmoil and lies of St. Aggie's. But with a few visits from the spirits of owls from long ago and a growing fascination for the world beyond the canyons, he is forced to embrace his destiny as something much more than a moon-blinked servant.
1. Chapter 1

_I didn't fall. I did nothing wrong. So why are you taking me away? _He wasn't a particularly young owlet. In fact, he already had several flight feathers in. He had started branching just a few nights ago, although it could have been earlier. He sighed. _Everything is late. _Name, late. Branching, late. _Everything._

Young as he was, though, he still longed for the sky, the fresh air, even the damp wind. Just away from the musty canyon. It was exactly the opposite of his beautiful home in Silverveil. Oh, Silverveil!

The great horned holding him suddenly went into a power dive and landed on a stone ledge. The owlet was deposited into a crowd of other young owls – most smaller than him – and shrank back self-consciously as he realized he was the only sooty there. Suddenly a menacing hiss split the air. All the owlets' heads snapped up almost simultaneously as an imposing great gray settled on a slender spindle of stone above them.

"Owlets." The great gray said clearly in a loud, powerful voice to match his impressive build. "You have been rescued from a cruel fate as orphans –" He was interrupted by a saw-whet owl who yelled boldly, "I'm not an orphan! I have a family! He –" the saw-whet pointed an accusatory downy wing at a masked owl on the fringes of the crowd, "- kidnapped me!" A great horned, the same who had carried the sooty, shoved him roughly with a wing, sending the saw-whet stumbling. It was only because the sooty's wing shot out instinctively and caught him. "Quiet when he's speaking." The great horned muttered and walked away.

"- As I was saying." The great gray's voice had taken on a most unpleasant note. "You have been rescued and brought to St. Aegolius academy for orphaned owls, or St. Aggie's. Eventually you will work to help keep the academy going. For now, though, you will go through the first processes – to begin with, the number ceremony."

A few minutes later, all the owlets had numbers. "Now that you have a number, you will be shown to your pits." And then the great gray flapped noisily over their heads and down another corridor of stone. A long-eared owl pushed 11-4, the saw-whet, 13-7, and some of the other owls forward. "I am your pit guardian, Kal." He said in what 11-4 found to be a much-too-sweet voice. And with that he bustled his group off to one of the pits.

Although 11-4 found the pit oppressive, he dared not complain. Nor did he dare mention the strangeness of owls sleeping by night, or the sleep march. Besides … he was exhausted. So 11-4 slept, beside 13-7, who was the closest he had to a familiar face.

When the sleep alarm sounded, 11-4 raised his head groggily. He shuffled his feet on the cold stone to warm them and joined the other owls. They were told to repeat their names. 11-4's heart began to pound, as he was nameless. _Think of a name, think of a name! _Nothing from the legends would work, and no important owls in history. A word name, maybe? They would believe that. _Umm … fox? No. Not that. Ochre, yes, ochre, that will do. _"Ochre. Ochre. Ochre." He repeated as the owlets circulated trough the stone chamber. His voice grew quieter, but never stopped, as strange as the word now sounded on his tongue. Slowly he began to slip into a trance. _Wake up! wake up! _A voice sounded inside his head.

"I … am awake." He mumbled. _Hush. Not so loud. Just think it._

_Think it…?_

_Yes. Think it._

The owl flying over 11-4, the one he realized he had been addressing, was … transparent. No owls were transparent. 11-4's heart began to pound.

_Are you … are you a scroom?_

_It's nothing to be afraid of, young'un. My name is Grimble._

11-4 remembered the legends his parents had told him. Grimble had died a thousand years ago.

_Scrooms are supposed to be here on unfinished business …_

11-4 couldn't complete the thought.

_I'm only here to warn you. Don't trust these owls. _

_They're the evil owls?_

Thought 11-4 incredulously. The "evil owls" names had never been mentioned in the legends.

The scroom churred softly. _Yes, them. I have to leave now. May Glaux be with you, young'un._

_Thank you … Grimble._

The sleep alarm sounded for the next group as Grimble's pale form faded in the air. 11-4 trudged back to his pit.


	2. The eggorium

**The Eggorium**

_Why are their eyes so blank?_ Thought 11-4 drearily. All the owlets in his pit had been doing the sleep march for what felt like an eternity - he hadn't seen Grimble again, though. They all had a glaze over their eyes which 11-4 found a little creepy.

As he roused himself for his first _day_ – it still felt wrong – of work, 11-4 spread out his wings to stretch them and looked up. St. Aggie's had an overflow of owlets in the pits, so they had found it easier to just have an owl - who actually _could - _read out a list than . . . whatever they usually did. 11-4 was placed in the eggorium, sorting out eggs by species. He couldn't help but notice that 13-7 was too. _Must we do everything together? _It was not so much a complaint as curiosity.

11-4's beak dropped open at the mountain of eggs. He froze in the entrance. "Keep moving." An adult owl shoved him roughly from behind. 11-4 stumbled forward. "Start sorting the eggs, everyone." Said the same owl in a raspy female voice. She flew up to a perch and watched the owlets sort the eggs. 11-4 found a smaller pile on the edge and began sorting them. He fell into a rhythm of species names whispered into his feathers, surprising himself with how many he knew. "_Boreal, boreal, snowy, boreal, great horned, screech._" He hesitated at an egg whose species he didn't know. An adult short-eared egg-sorter bustled past him, pushing the egg into a pile. 11-4 shrank back and walked over to another smaller pile of eggs. _13-7? Again? _11-4 began sorting out the eggs near the smaller owl. "13-7," he whispered. "One and the same," said the saw-whet. "Except I'm not." 11-4 was surprised at the smaller owl's tone, seemingly casual but seeming to hide scathing sarcasm. "Err …" 11-4 couldn't come up with a remotely intelligent response.

13-7 smirked, which looked odd on an owlet still clad in down feathers. One generally thinks of owlets as sweet and adorable, but definitely not sarcastic. "Most owls are at a loss for words when a little cutesy-wutesy such as myself insults them. Don't worry about it." 11-4 snorted. "Well, thanks for reassuring me."

"No problem."

11-4 just shook his head. Then a thought hit him.

"Wait …" He looked into 13-7's face. "You don't have the creepy eyes." "Nope," 13-7 smirked again. "I'm too smart to be moon-blinked." "I have absolutely no idea what that is. Enlighten me." "Well," said 13-7 as he nudged an egg into the burrowing owl pile, "Basically you turn into a zombie, or in this case a zombie slave, from exposure to a full-shine moon during your sleep." 11-4 shook his head again. How did this owlet even know words like "zombie" and "exposure"?

11-4 looked up at the raspy-voiced female owl. "Who _are _these owls?" He muttered to 13-7. Suddenly something swooped from behind and grabbed him by the wing, carrying him up to a ledge near the ceiling of the cave and pinning him there. Looking up, he identified his … something or other as a great horned, and a male. "Laugh," he hissed down into the near-silent cave. "Laugh, owlets."

The owlets laughed in choruses – those who were perfectly moon-blinked first, leading up to the less so. Craning his head as far as he could, 11-4 couldn't say he saw 13-7 laughing. "Never," said the great horned, leaning down into 11-4's face, "ever ask a question." His voice never rose above a whisper, and yet it was almost as menacing as the Great gray's.

_I will not respond, _thought 11-4 stubbornly. And then he realized what they were doing. It was a stinging jolt, and then a warm trickle of blood on his wing. His newly fledged feathers that he had taken such pride in drifted into a pile beside him, along with many of his down feathers. As the horned and an owl behind him continued to pluck his wings, 11-4 realized he had shut his ears to the laughter. He also realized that it had not affected him, and he was ignoring it for the sake of his ears and not his feeling. He might have realized more after that, but the shock, pain and blood loss combined caused him to faint.

When he woke up, 11-4 was lying down. _You're too lazy to even prop me up, eh? _He thought, annoyed, as he scrambled to his feet. Since this part of the canyons was obviously not the eggorium or a pit, he decided he must be in St. Aggie's take on an infirmary – and a very poor job they had done. There were nests lined up in neat rows, like everything else, and there were a few smaller caverns off one edge that he assumed were storage for whatever pitiful healing supplies they had and possibly roosts for the nurses.

It was only when he shifted his wing and felt the blood clinging to him that he realized he would have to get it off. When 11-4 looked down, his beak dropped open and he froze. His feathers, in the short time he had been asleep, had completely grown back and there were even several new ones. As he swung around, he realized he had also grown in some of his chest and stomach feathers. Not only that, but his other wing had even more feathers than the first one.

_Stars! _Thought 11-4 joyously as he looked up at them, having finished preening himself. Spotting a flicker of movement against the wall, he spotted a cave rat moving along the floor. Instinctively, he leaped on it and killed it quickly with a peck to the neck. Starved as he was, 11-4 swallowed it headfirst, barely tasting it but finding his hunger immediately satisfied. Stretching his wings out and relishing the feeling as they unfurled from his sides, 11-4 thought, _I'm not going to stay here. I'll escape, and I'll bring 13-7 with me. I'll bide my time, though._

He stretched his wings one last time and settled more comfortably in the nest.


End file.
